Dead Man's Heart
by riskingskies
Summary: Alternate storyline for Dead Man's Chest. Norrington is still in office, Will gets captured by Beckett... Elizabeth finds herself a fugitive of the law after running away from her life in Port Royale. Her heart is torn between the dutiful life of the governor's daughter and the swashbuckling life of a pirate. Willabeth! Sparrabeth! Which side of her heart will win?
1. Prologue

**This is my alternate version to Dead Man's Chest - takes place a year after The Curse of the Black Pearl. There's both Willabeth and Sparrabeth in this story - who knows which side Elizabeth will choose in the end? You'll just have to read on to find out!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own PotC or the characters, etc etc.**

**Prologue**

Screams.

Horrifying, wretched, blood-curdling screams shook through the cellar. The dimly lit, narrow brick room with dirt floors was lined with five or six adjoining jail cells, all empty except for the two southmost; the locked one held the girl from whom the screams originated, and the other had held a young man until very recently - two guards of the British Royal Navy had gone down to the prison to fetch him and both now held a tight grip on either arm as they dragged him out of his cell. The only source of light was the flickering candlelight coming from the evenly spaced lanterns that hung on the walls, casting deep, menacing shadows over the guards' faces as they secured shackles around William Turner's wrists.

"Will! _Will_! Please, no! WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HIM? _WILL_!" Elizabeth Swann's question was hardly decipherable through her hoarse screams, but one of the guards, his grip on the boy's arm unnecessarily tight, turned to face Elizabeth. The lantern on the wall a foot or so away from the guard cast sharp shadows across his face, accentuating his wrinkles and hooked nose. His eyes were black and his expression emotionless.

"Don't worry, miss," he cackled darkly, "you'll be seeing him again very shortly" - he paused, his expression turning fierce and menacing - "_in Davy Jones's Locker_."

The cellar was consumed by an unnervingly loud silence as the realization of Will's fate rang through the corridor. Elizabeth let out a sound of pure despair as she threw herself at the bars of her cell, desperately grasping for Will whose eyes had widened with sheer terror as he looked back at her over his shoulder. Their eyes met for one last time, exchanging a flurry of unspoken thoughts, until Will rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight, just like that. Elizabeth's shrieks resumed, louder and more terrifying than ever, for a solid twenty minutes before her voice was all but lost and her spirit all but broken. She slumped to the floor in the corner of her cell, letting her long, messy, unkempt hair fall into her eyes. Had it only been twenty four hours ago that she had been enjoying a peaceful afternoon with Will, completely unaware that he would be ripped away from her so soon?

**xxx**

_"And does your father still believe the reason for your daily visits to my shop are for afternoon tea?" asked an exhausted Will Turner, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he retired to his old wooden stool for a rest. Elizabeth stood across the room from him, reaching to return the sword Will had made just for her to its place on the wall, hidden from sight under a sheath. Ever since returning to Port Royale a year ago after gallivanting across the ocean with a certain Captain Jack Sparrow, and consequently having to save him from his deadly fate, Elizabeth had asked Will to teach her how to handle a sword. She had said she wanted to learn how to hold her own, should she ever come across another pirate, which was true - but she would have been lying if she'd claimed that was the only reason. She and Will had become inseperable over the past months, and with that and her rejection of Commodore James Norrington's marriage proposal, her father had not been very pleased with her, so she decided it would be best to meet with her best friend in private - or at least not tell Governor Swann the full story as to why she was there._

_ Elizabeth shot him a coy grin. "Mr. Turner, are you implying that you would like to tell my father yourself that we have been engaging in swordfighting lessons amongst other acts of piracy?" She walked over to where Will was sitting and grabbed an eloquent olive-coloured dress off of an otherwise vacant stool. At the moment, she donned an old, loose-fitting ivory cotton shirt with long sleeves and a pair of brown breeches - they had, at one time, been Will's, but he had long since outgrown them and offered them to Elizabeth instead to use for their lessons. "Let me go change." She stole off to the back room - which was more like a closet than a room, really - to change back into her dress._

_ Will stared at her as she strode off to the back room. Even in men's clothes she was the most stunning human being he had ever seen. He hesitated, then slid off his chair and followed her as she disappeared behind the doorway. He rounded the corner to see her facing opposite of him toward a full-sized mirror, with her eyes closed as she tinkered with the fastener on the small, silver locket around her neck that her father had given her. She was still in his clothes and had dropped the dress to the floor rather carelessly. He inched toward her and gently reached out a hand to place on her shoulder. "Let me help you with that," he murmured; Elizabeth jumped slightly at his touch, gazing up at his reflection in the mirror with her bright, honey-coloured eyes. Will was right behind her now, hand on her shoulder, failing to notice her looking at his reflection... his eyes were focused straight down at her, admiring her beautiful golden hair that fell effortlessly down to her mid-back in golden waves. He liked it better this way - naturally long and wavy, framing her pale face to further accentuate her beauty, rather than stiffly curled and pinned up, every hair in its place._

_ She turned to face him, her nose just reaching his chin, and tenderly rested a pale, bony hand on his chest. His chocolate-brown eyes met her honey-coloured ones and they shared an unspoken moment of insight into each other's minds. The fear in Will's eyes was evident; his feelings for Elizabeth were no real secret - he had taken the risk all those months ago of telling her he loved her before saving a pirate from a wrongful death. His fear stemmed from the fact that nothing happened immediately after that. When Will stepped between Captain Jack Sparrow and Commodore James Norrington to prevent him from attacking Sparrow, Elizabeth was immediately by his side; but when Sparrow made his escape, leaving Elizabeth and Will alone, she simply pulled him into a long, warm embrace and told him how good of a friend he was. He did not question her feelings, but rather returned to his role as her best and dearest childhood friend, faithfully and ever-patiently staying by her side when she needed him._

_ She, on the other hand, was entirely unsure how she felt about him. Logically, they were a perfect match. He was chivalrous, handsome, kind, gentle, honest and soft-spoken... his passion and devotion to swordsmanship astounded her. He was very protective of her but never overstepped his boundaries; his infinite patience and unwaivering loyalty for her never failed. In that moment, staring straight past his eyes and into his soul, she realized it: He was too good for her_. _As the thought crossed her mind, a pang of sadness struck deep in her chest... she was so entirely undeserving of this man, who had so willingly given himself - given everything - up for her._

_ So when he began to lean in to press his lips against hers, she pulled away, not because she didn't want him, but because she was afraid. Afraid to get any closer to him when her life and her feelings were so unstable. Afraid to drag him into her world with every possibility of him being ripped away from her again. How could she do that to him when she couldn't even give him a straight answer as to how she felt about him? Another brief moment of eye contact... his gaze fell with the sting of rejection, and she felt it, too, because she knew there was a part of her that loved him. That was the part of her that longed to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his cheek, to hug him warmly and tell him everything would be okay. Instead, however, she dropped her wounded gaze to the floor and backed away, cold air filling the space between them. Would he ever get a straight answer from Elizabeth regarding her feelings towards him? _No_, she decided. _I can't let him wait for me to decide what I want. _So she would stand back, then, suffer in silence, and let him move on. The thought stung, but she knew it would be for the best... for the man who deserved so much more than her._

_ They both stood there in silence, bodies inches apart but thoughts miles away, until a loud rap on the door to the shop - a not entirely unwelcome interruption - shook them back into reality. Without a word, Will spun on his heel and started for the door, leaving Elizabeth alone in the back room, the intensity of the moment still lingering. After a moment, she, too, snapped herself out of it and headed after Will, halting several feet away from him as he reached out to open the door._

_ As soon as Will's hand met the metal doorknob the door flung back towards him, smacking him full-on in the face and causing him to stumble backward into a wooden pole. He didn't have much time to be upset before he found himself surrounded by twelve or more members of the Royal Navy, complete with red coats and black tricorn hats, with their muskets aimed straight towards him. He found Elizabeth struggling to get through the guards until she was at his side, clinging to his arm. He could hear the door open and close again but couldn't see anyone over the guards' heads. Before long, however, the circle of men expanded to accommodate the newest visitor - a man short in stature with a rather large head, complete with a shorter white wig, black tricorne hat, and rich, velvety attire that suggested a position of wealth and power. _

_ The short man centered himself amongst the guards with his hands casually locked behind his back. "William Turner," he said, his voice dark and velvety with a smug undertone. It was a statement, not a question. _

_ Will raised his eyebrows as he felt Elizabeth's grasp on his arm tighten. "Yes?" Will's expression was cold but his mind was filled with worry - whatever the guards were here for, it was not good._

_ The short man smirked and cast a sideways glance at his guards and nodded very slightly. Four of the men - two on each side of him - strode forward in a single swift movement and grabbed ahold of Will, pulling him away from Elizabeth as she gasped in surprise. The guards fastened metal shackles around Will's wrists with unnecessary roughness, bruising his arms and consequently causing him to wince in pain. "What's going on!?" Elizabeth cried, taking a step toward Will. The short man stepped between them; Elizabeth stepped back as if he were a wildfire threatening to burn her._

_ "And you must be miss Elizabeth Swann, no other than the governor's daughter." The man was just slightly shorter than Elizabeth. Her eyes narrowed as they locked with the man's dull grey ones. "What's going on?" Elizabeth spoke through clenched teeth now. She intended to sound fearsome with rage but there was a noticeable tremor of fear in her voice._

_ As the man opened his mouth to speak, two more guests barged in on the scene. The circle of guards expanded and Elizabeth saw Governor Swann, her father, and Commodore Norrington, her ex-fiancée, hastening towards the circle, both noticeably shaken and somewhat damp, suggesting a drizzle of rain had begun to fall. The men didn't get far before two of the guards shifted their muskets to block their path to Elizabeth and Will. Commodore Norrington looked more frightened than anything; Governor Swann was fuming._

_ "How dare you -" he began, looking over to the man standing between Will and Elizabeth. "Cutler Beckett?" His voice had lost its sense of authority as he spoke the man's name._

_ "Governor Weatherby Swann, it's been too long," came the man's response, breaking eye contact with Elizabeth to face her father and the commodore. "...And it's Lord Beckett, now, actually."_

_ "Lord or not, you have no reason and no authority to arrest this young man! Stand your men down, Beckett." Swann's fury was evident now; he looked disheveled and shaken, a much different Governor than he'd ever portray in any other situation. Norrington remained silent, shooting a fearful glance at Elizabeth. Lord Beckett gave a short nod to his men, who withdrew their muskets to allow Governor Swann and the commodore to pass._

_ "Ahh, Commodore Norrington. So good to see you again." Beckett finally turned to address James who was apparently trying to avoid eye contact with him at all costs. "I must express my sincerest gratitude for your aid in the arrest of this man." He wore a cold smirk now, staring James down, who locked eyes with him as terror blanketed his expression. Elizabeth gasped._

_ "What do you mean, 'aid in the arrest of this man' -?" Elizabeth began as Beckett and Norrington both drew their attention to her. She looked over at James now. "James... what does he mean?" Her tone was a mixture of fear, disbelief and anger as she addressed her ex-fiancée, glowering up at him. He opened his mouth then shut it again, struggling to find words. His expression softened as he looked into the fierce, golden eyes of the girl who had held his heart for so long._

_ "Oh, you didn't tell her?" Beckett interjected, drawing attention to himself again. "Your friend Norrington here so gratuitously disclosed the whereabouts of Mr. Turner for me, making my job much easier than it might've been." He sneered as James's face went pale; Elizabeth gasped and looked back up at the commodore in astounding disbelief. _

_ "You _what_!?" She stepped back to place herself by Will's side, intertwining her hand with his as she had done almost a year ago in the defense of Jack Sparrow. This time, however, _he_ was the one in shackles. James remained silent. _

_ "Oh, and while we're at it..." Beckett nodded to his men once more. A few stepped forward and seized Elizabeth, tearing her away from Will, and secured shackles around her pale wrists. Everyone shifted slightly - Will struggled to break free from the guards' grasp on him; Governor Swann gasped and reactively reached for her with one hand; Norrington cried out "No!" and took a step toward her, only to be stopped again by the guards._

_ "You're arresting me!?" Elizabeth cried out with disbelief._

_ "On what charges?!" Will bellowed, still struggling to break free of the men's grasps. His eye contact with Elizabeth did not falter._

_ "Commodore, I again thank you for your help in the arrest of this couple, and trust you not to interfere further," Beckett stated in a low, more serious voice. "You may leave."_

_ "Taking Elizabeth was not part of the bargain!" He yelled as two guards took ahold of his arms and began dragging him toward the door. _

_ "Just good business." Beckett smirked. The door closed shut. Silence._

_ "What are they charged with? Tell me!" The governor was shouting now as he rounded on Lord Beckett, shaking with fury. Beckett remained quite calm, his arms still crossed behind his back. Ever so slowly, he brought his hands up in front of him, revealing two folded pieces of parchment. He held them up and waved them slightly before handing them rather carelessly over to the governor, who hastily ripped open one of the envelopes and unfolded the official-looking parchment inside. Will and Elizabeth both stood without breathing, waiting to hear their accused crimes._

_ "The charge...," he began, looking up to cast a glance of disbelief and worry at the couple, "...is conspiring to set free a man convicted of crimes against the crown of England empire and condemned to death, for which the p-" Governor Swann found his voice stuck in his throat as he read through the last line. He read it again. No. They can't do that. They can't -_

_ "For which the punishment, regrettably, is also death." Beckett's lips curled around the last word, forming a content smirk as his eyes travelled between the governor, Elizabeth and Will. Elizabeth's mouth hung open in disbelief; Will's heart sank as the consequences of his actions some months ago hit him._

_ "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate by the name of Jack Sparrow?" Beckett continued, now facing the couple. _

_ "Captain," they both hissed simultaneously. Any worry or sadness that had been evident in their expressions was replaced with heated anger towards Beckett, who could not seem to care less. "_Captain _Jack Sparrow," Elizabeth continued, taking advantage of her sudden rush of courage. Her heart fluttered at the mention of him - she had not heard of nor seen the man since he had miraculously escaped from the grasps of the royal navy almost a year ago._

_ "Ah, yes. Captain Jack Sparrow." Beckett enunciated every syllable, spitting it out as if his name were an unpleasant, undercooked fish he had the misfortune to take a bite out of. "Yes, I thought you might."_

And less than twenty-four hours later, in the same men's clothes she was in prior to her arrest, hair a tangled mess and face streaked with dried tears, sat the very same Elizabeth Swann. She didn't know how long she spent curled up in the corner of her cell - minutes, hours, days. But that's where she stayed, unmoving. Unfeeling. Numb.

He was gone. The one person who had always, without exception, stuck faithfully by her side ever since they were children, was gone. She would never get to hug him again, lose herself in his warm and comforting and safe embrace. She'd never get to look into his chocolate brown eyes again, that reflected his pure and kind and gentle soul. She would no longer get a chance to look past his eyes, straight into his soul, and read him like an open book. A wretched thought occured to her: One of the last things she did to him was reject him. He opened his heart up to her, again, and she pushed him away.

Would things have turned out differently had she kissed him back? If she had only known twenty-four hours ago where she would be now, where he would be...

_ I love you, Will. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please forgive me. Come back. Come back to me, Will... I love you. _Anything she said now was irrelevant, but that didn't keep her from admitting to herself what she had known all along - she loved him.

If only that could change anything.

The moments that passed while she was in this state melted together. Left alone with her thoughts, she became a danger to herself. Her heart no longer feared for only herself; it had grown, enveloped another man whom she had loved with all her heart. Will had an appointment with the gallows, as the guard had put it, and Elizabeth had found herself entirely incapable of helping him in the slightest. She tried to conjure up an image of his face in her mind, bright and smiling down at her. The more she tried, however, the more vague and blurry the image of him seemed to become... she had already lost him.

Suddenly, another face popped into her head - the face of the one and only Captain Jack Sparrow. She had heard nothing of him since she saw him join his crew on the Black Pearl after evading his own appointment with the gallows. At night she often found herself lying in bed, wondering what ever became of the pirate. She would be lying, too, if she claimed she did not miss him. He was an adventure. He was everything Elizabeth had been denied her entire life. Unlike Will, no one could ever be sure of Jack's real intentions - he was not an open book waiting to be read but a man who could pick and choose what sides of him he wanted you to see. He was built up as a legend, the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, and no one but Jack himself would ever know the truth behind the tales told about him. Elizabeth found him intriguing, and now found herself worrying for his safety - after getting a glimpse inside his world, the Jack she'd come to know and love was a good man, a brave fighter, and a clever negotiator. She also knew that he did not deserve to die. Two men whose fates had been intertwined with hers... and were now being ripped away from her just as quickly. What could she do but sit back and watch it all happen before her eyes?

At that moment, her ears picked up the distant sound of hurried footsteps heading toward her. She leapt to her feet and tried to compose herself, wiping away the tears from her cheeks - she didn't want anyone to see her in the state she was in. The footsteps swiftly descended the cement staircase that led to the corridor - it was pitch black and there was no source of light coming from upstairs, which led Elizabeth to believe it was nighttime. Her visitor held no candle, either, so his features were nothing but a silhouette in the dark.

"Elizabeth," the visitor breathed, grasping the bars of the cell, looking down at her. She met his terrified gaze, recognizing him at once as Commodore Norrington.

"James! What are you -?" she exclaimed - her excitement at seeing him was quickly overcome by hatred, a black flame engulfing her entire body as she recalled why she and Will had been captured in the first place. "You shouldn't be here," she spat. Her voice had turned low and venomous.

"Elizabeth - please - there's no time." Norrington winced as she flung various insults and curse words at him, then grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the cell. Elizabeth struggled to break free.

"_You - killed - my - best - friend_!" She cried in between taking swings at his head. He narrowly missed her unforgiving blows, knowing full well he deserved it, but also knowing there were more important things at hand. He kept a firm grasp around her petite wrists, pulling her with him as he climbed back up the stairs and into the foggy night.

"You have to get out of here. I've set up for your escape on a merchant vessel, The _Victory_. They leave very shortly. Do not tell anyone who you are." He spoke in a low, urgent tone, dragging Elizabeth through the moonlit streets of Port Royale until they eventually reached the dock.

"James! Let - me -_ go_!" She screamed in whispers, infuriated with him but also understanding the intensity of the situation, knowing neither of them could get caught. Finally, when they reached The _Victory_, Norrington let go of her wrists, which she hastily pulled away from him and down to her sides. He placed both of his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

"Elizabeth, please -"

"Why did you turn us in? Why would you give Beckett our location knowing he was out to arrest us?" Behind them, several crew members were taking orders from the captain, loading boxes of cargo. Norrington kept glancing over at them impatiently, but Elizabeth kept her eyes on James, waiting for him to speak.

"No - I never intended -"

"Never intended what? For me to get arrested along with Will? But you were more than happy to dispose of _him_, right?" Her harsh words were like daggers in his heart.

"I - I told him not to hurt you... either of you -"

"And you didn't think that I would be hurt when the single most important person in my life was ripped away from me!?" She shook his hands off of her. Her honey-coloured eyes were now watery with betrayal and disbelief. "How could you?"

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. But you have to listen to me." The commodore paused, waiting for Elizabeth to interrupt him with insults and accusations, but she remained silent. "Lord Beckett is a ruthless man. He did not hesitate to kill Will and he will not hesitate to kill you." Elizabeth's face hardened and her eyes narrowed.

"What about my father?" she asked.

"Safe. Beckett is after Jack Sparrow and will waste no time with people who aren't valuable to him in the slightest." At this, Elizabeth looked slightly confused... the commodore opened his mouth to explain further but halted when he noticed the _Victory_ preparing to make sail.

"Elizabeth - you must go now. Stay off land or he will find you. Tell no one who you are." In one fluid motion, James took off the plain, black tricorne hat from his head and handed it to Elizabeth, then gently rested a hand on her smooth cheek; a tear fell down her porcelain skin and collided with his hand. "Goodbye."

With one last brief moment of eye contact, James took a step backward, opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, and then hastened off in the other direction, back into Port Royale, where there was every possibility of Lord Beckett finding out what he'd done at any time.

Elizabeth turned to face the _Victory_, then looked down at the hat she now held... _Very suitable for a pirate_, she thought. She gathered her hair roughly at the top of her head and placed the hat on top of it, hiding it from view... she could only hope she'd be able to pass as a young lad, because after all,_ it's frightful bad luck to have a woman aboard_. Elizabeth smiled inwardly as she thought of Mr. Gibbs, then turned back one more time to get a glimpse of Port Royale - somewhere, there were children sound asleep, safe in their home; somewhere, two lovers were enjoying each other's company; somewhere, Will Turner was either being questioned or being hanged... was it true that he could actually simply be dead, as James had implied? Could he still be alive? Elizabeth took hold of the silver locket that hung around her neck, the only thing that now connected her to Port Royale, and hustled off to help carry the last few boxes of cargo onto the ship. With the ship's departure, a newfound determination manifested inside Elizabeth - she would come back. She would find out what happened to Will. She would assure her father's safety. And she would not let Lord Beckett kill Jack Sparrow. She would not let him win.


	2. Fateful Coincidence

**All feedback is very much appreciated. Thank you for reading! :)**

**Disclaimer: PotC belongs to Disney.**

**Chapter 2**

"Why is the rum_ always _gone?" growled a rather frustrated Captain Jack Sparrow. It was the dead of night and he was alone in his cabin. He could hear the constant patter of rain against the wooden frame of the Black Pearl, getting heavier and harsher by the minute. In front of him lay a rather tattered, sepia-toned map of the Caribbean; in his hand was an empty glass bottle of rum; and sitting down on the table next to the map was a small, wooden compass that didn't point north.

Indeed, the compass didn't point north... in fact, it couldn't seem to decide on a direction to point at all. The needle spun back and forth, jumping between two or three different directions. Jack reached out his free hand to tap the compass, causing the needle to shudder violently before resuming its eternal limbo. The captain's brow furrowed, then he slammed the compass shut and set the empty bottle down on the wooden desk, and staggered over to his unmade bed and collapsed in it with a resigned and exhausted sigh.

**xxx**

"The rum's gone?"

Jack huffed and turned around, facing Mr. Gibbs, his first mate. His expression resembled that of a puppy dog who had been left out in the rain too long. "Yes, Mr. Gibbs, the rum is gone. And while we could sit here all day and mope about it," Jack continued, speaking louder as to address the rest of the crew above deck, most of whom had stopped what they were doing at the talk of rum and now stared blankly at the captain, "I say we change our heading... I find meself fancyin' a bit of honest pirating and a stock-up on rum, aye? What say you, lads?"

"Aye!" Exclaimed the rest of the crew.

"Great. Off to Tortuga it is then, mates. Now get back to work! All hands on deck!" Jack swung around to carress the polished wooden wheel of his ship before steering it to the left to honor their new heading. His eyes swept over the expanse of inky blue sea in front of him as he drowned out the sounds of his bustling crew. _Surely that's the problem_, he thought. _Surely my compass is all willy-nilly because I can't decide whether I want freedom or rum - a dreadful thing, making a pirate choose between the two. Once I get ahold of some more rum I'll be fine._ Jack cast a weak grin at no one in particular, which faded just as quickly...

_Right?_

It took four days to reach Tortuga. Not once did Jack emerge from his cabin during that time, leaving Gibbs to take on twice the amount of time at the wheel. It was raining when they arrived; the sky was a remarkably dull combination of different shades of grey, further complimented by the dense fog that consumed the Black Pearl upon its arrival in swirling, billowing clouds.

A loud rap on the door startled Jack into reality.

"Jack?"

It was Mr. Gibbs. Captain Sparrow, who was laying in his bed on his back fully clothed, rubbed his pounding temples before getting to his feet. "What?"

"We're here, sir - we've just made port in Tortuga."

"Around the back way, I would hope, Mr. Gibbs?"

"But of course, Cap'n. The Pearl is entirely hidden from the mainland."

"All right. Gimme a moment." Jack sighed and waited until he heard Gibbs's heavy footsteps grow quieter then disappear altogether. He swaggered over to the worn, black velvet armchair that occupied the spot next to his nightstand and grabbed his effects, hastily securing them on his body one at a time, the last of them being his signature tricorne hat, worn and tattered, that he placed on his head securely. His mind was a scrambled mess of thoughts, worries, accusations. He swiped up one of the many empty rum bottles that littered his nightstand and turned it upside-down, his eyes travelling down the glass as the last few drops of liquid raced to the bottom, and then -

_"Jack." _

The voice was the white foam of a wave brushing against a ship, the whisper of the wind as it danced through a pretty woman's golden hair, the dark, muffled sound of bubbles escaping from a man's lips as he was submerged underwater.

The bottle dropped to the floor abruptly, sending shattered glass flying in every direction. Had he imagined it? Jack turned slowly, the sound of cracking shards of glass ringing through the otherwise silent room. He froze as his eyes came upon a bluish figure standing in the shadows of the farthest, darkest corner of the cabin. Other sounds emerged: the drip of water colliding with the small wet pool at the figure's feet; the heavy, raspy breaths the figure drew in; the thump of Jack's heart, swelling up viciously inside his chest.

"Bootstrap?" Jack's voice came out as nothing more than a whisper. His eyes widened, surveying the man across from him who took a step forward now, accompanied by the noisy sound of water sloshing in his boots. "Bill Turner?"

The man stepped forward into the flickering candlelight, revealing his face to Jack, who gasped in horror. His entire face - no, his whole body - had seemed to emerge from the deepest oblivion of the ocean, thoroughly encrusted with ocean life: sponges, coral, shells, even a starfish that leeched itself to one cheekbone, twitching slightly whenever he blinked. He looked as though he had spent a hundred years at the bottom of the sea, letting it grow around him, into him. Jack caught a glimpse of some sort of foul white maggot crawling across the man's face and under his hat.

"You look good, Jack." As the man spoke in his raspy whisper, water leaked from his mouth, his nose, his ears. For once, Jack was speechless... his mouth opened, grasping for words that did not come - instead, he felt a peculiar urge to vomit. In his silence, Turner continued. "But I am not here to reacquaintance myself, Jack... my time was up a long time ago."

"What _are_ you?" Jack managed, taking a step closer to the man.

"I am neither dead nor alive. My heart does not beat, I do not feel. I am stuck in a dreadful limbo, I am empty, nothing but a wandering soul...

"He sent me, Jack." Bill looked straight into Jack's eyes, who furrowed his brow in return. "Davy Jones."

All colour drained from Jack's face. "You... he..."

"He found me at the bottom of the ocean, being crushed by the depths but unable to die. I was being suffocated but I couldn't drown. He offered me a bargain... what choice did I have, Jack?" Bill's icy eyes were softer now, pleading. "One hundred years of servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman, or an eternity under the crushing depths of the sea. No choice," he said.

Jack opened his mouth to speak and took a step toward him, intending to pass, but Bill held up a stiff, dripping wet hand to his chest, blocking his path. "No choice," he repeated gravely. "Your time is up, Jack. He brought the Pearl back from the depths for you. You've captained it for thirteen years, that was the agreement... he wants payment."

"Technically, I-" Jack began to protest but was interrupted by a cautious knock on the door, startling them both. "What!?" Jack's voice cracked, making him sound much less intimidating than he intended.

"Are yeh comin', Jack? Half the crew is already gone," came Gibbs's hoarse voice. Jack opened his mouth again to speak and turned towards Bootstrap. He found the man inches away from himself, faces uncomfortably close together. Bootstrap took one cold, wet hand and grasped one of Jack's as if to give him something; when he withdrew, a ghastly-looking black spot formed on the palm of the captain's hand, looking rather like tar or an untreated open wound. Jack gasped and balled his hand into a fist; Bootstrap took hold of his shoulders.

"Your time is up, Jack. If you do not go to him, he will find you. Davy Jones is not known to be a merciful man." Bootstrap released his clammy grasp on Jack. His bottom lip began to tremble; his eyes were wide and watery with fear. He glanced around the room and lowered his voice. "_Stay on land_."

Jack had no time to react before there was another knock on the door, this one louder and more urgent. Jack quickly glanced towards the exit and then back to Bootstrap - he was gone. Jack felt his heart drop, his eyes shifting to his right hand which was now stained with the Black Spot. This was it, then. The time of jauntily sailing across the seven seas was over. Thirteen years was such a short amount of time in hindsight, and most of them he hadn't even been aboard the Black Pearl. Not nearly enough time to discover all of the world's secrets and mysteries. Thirteen years captaining the Black Pearl in exchange for an eternity of servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman... it had seemed like such a worthy exchange at the time...

...But that had never been the plan, had it?

A roguish grin spread across Jack's face.

xxx

"Three rooms for me and me crewmates for tonight. Please." Jack flashed a toothy grin at the service lady behind the counter as he slammed a small burlap bag of schillings down on the table. She was a rather large older woman with curly, fiery red hair and equally bright lipstick. She grinned widely back at him, displaying the few yellowing teeth she had left, then snatched up the bag of coins to replace them with three bronze keys. Jack tipped his hat to her and swiped the keys up, heading off for the stairs that led to the second floor of the rather large inn. Gibbs, Marty, Cotton, Pintel and Ragetti followed.

"Where the rest of the crew gunna be sleepin'?" wondered Ragetti aloud, nudging Pintel as they walked.

"Does it matter? If they wanna jump ship there be plenty o' sailors more n' willing to take their place," Pintel retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Divide the two rooms amongst yourselves, gentlemen," Jack called, tossing two of the keys to Gibbs and Cotton.

"What abou' the third room, Cap'n?" Ragetti chimed.

"Reserved for the captain, of course," Jack responded simply before unlocking the door to his motel room and slipping inside. "Bright n' early tomorrow morning, gents. Wouldn't want to miss out on a full day of drunken pillaging!"

The door slammed shut.

Jack lay in his bed for hours after the others had fallen asleep next door. That night marked their third in Tortuga since their arrival... Jack had decided to heed Bootstrap's warning to stay on land, and there was no piece of land else he'd rather be stuck on than Tortuga. In the short time they had been there they'd already made - er, stolen - a fortune. Enough of one to afford the best inn in the city. Still, tonight - well, it was more like early morning now - Jack found himself entirely dissatisfied and discouraged, lost in his endless thoughts and questions and feeble escape plans. Among the wenches, endless rum, and bountiful opportunities for plundering and pillaging, _still_, Jack thought, _all I want is to get back out to sea_.

A thought occured to him.

He got up from the bed and walked over to the chair that held his effects, then picked up his belt and slid his compass out of its harness. He closed his eyes.

_All I want is to get back out to sea._

The compass flung open, and the needle inside shuddered for several moments. A disheartened Jack was just about ready to slam it shut again when it came to a decisive stop, pointing away from him toward the door. Jack's heart leapt; he tapped the compass on the side and shook it around a bit, but still it did not falter. Quickly, he secured all of his effects to him, grabbed his hat and flew out the door and down the steps to the main floor, letting the compass guide him.

He came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes and ears absorbing the atmosphere, which was so different from the peaceful, rather quiet lobby it had been just hours before. It was quite a scene: swords clashed against each other violently; men were yelling and wrestling and pulling each other to the ground. In the midst of it all, Jack caught a glimpse of two rather official-looking men, sticking out profusely in the mob of grimy sailors and civilians. They wore red coats, black hats and white wigs, and had taken hold of a poor lad by the elbows on either side. Jack, after addressing his compass again to confirm the direction of his deepest desire, slipped through the crowds of fighting men to get a better look.

"...You'd best be keeping your mouth shut," began one of the guards - decidedly from the Royal Navy - in a particularly nasally voice. He struggled to get a firm grasp on the young boy he was trying to secure.

A desperate shriek escaped the lips of the boy, trying to wriggle his way free of the men's hold on him. "No! Let me _go_!" Jack's eyes widened as he registered the plea.

That was _definitely_ not a man's voice.

In one swift motion, one of the guards knocked the black tricorne hat off of the person's head, revealing long, light brown hair - almost golden - that fell down elegantly to her mid-back in gentle waves.

Lizzie?

She tried again to pry herself free of the grown men's grasps; they tightened their hands around her petite wrists until it was evident that she was in pain by the way she curved toward them involuntarily, wincing in pain.

At that moment, the unmistakeable sound of a gun cocking caused the trio to stop in their tracks. Jack found himself at the source of it, his arm stretched out with his handgun pointing straight at one of the guards' heads. Elizabeth's mouth fell open as her eyes travelled over to Jack, who didn't even seem to acknowledge her presence.

"And what are two... _upstanding_ gentlemen such as yourselves doing in a place like this?" Jack's voice was lined with venom, but masked with harmless curiosity as he began to revolve around the trio. The whole room seemed to fall silent as men gathered around the circle that formed. The two guards were shaking now, exchanging worried glances but keeping a firm hold on Elizabeth. They were not armed, nor did they look like men who would have the first clue on how to handle a sword if one was presented to them, so when Jack motioned for them to let go of Elizabeth, they obeyed wordlessly. She rubbed her wrists then backed out of the circle, ending up next to Jack.

"Now," Jack growled, taking a step toward the two guards. The barrel of his gun was almost touching one of the men's foreheads. Jack opened his mouth to speak again, but -

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

The room was dead silent. Slow, calculated footsteps echoed around the lobby; the wooden door to the entrance slammed shut, cutting off the golden morning sunlight that flooded the entire room. The crowd parted; a shadowy figure emerged, halting when he reached the circle in the middle of the room which now seemed to be centered around Jack and Elizabeth.

The man was short in stature and wore a particularly bright and poofy white wig, topped with a tricorne hat. That and his ritzy, velvet attire identified him as no other than -

"Lord Beckett." It was Elizabeth who spoke now, standing next to Sparrow - it was in this moment that she became aware of the fact that she, too, had no weapon. Next to her, Jack lowered his gun as he stared down Beckett, his expression painted with both anger and utter confusion. Beckett wore his typical condescending smirk, eyes shifting between the pair in front of him.

"I come here in pursuit of the governor's daughter after her timely escape from a Port Royale prison" - he shot a deathly glance at Elizabeth, who stared him down - "and come across no other than the notorious and ever-elusive Captain Jack Sparrow." He shifted his gaze over to the captain now, his smirk transforming into a disgusted snarl. Jack glanced down at Elizabeth to meet her eyes for the first time - she gave him a stern look with honey-brown, fierce eyes that plainly stated, "_Not now_."

Jack met Beckett's gaze and smirked. "Thirteen years and you haven't found anything better to do with your time than chasing pirates across the seven seas. And now you've expanded your hunt to innocent damsels... An unhealthy obsession, really, mate." Beckett's temper flared; in one swift motion he pulled a handgun from his belt to Jack's head. Elizabeth stifled a terrified gasp, but Jack didn't even flinch.

"It's time for you to stop running and face the consequences of your actions, Jack," Beckett spat acidly.

"Put the gun down before you hurt yourself," Jack retorted. "We both know yer not gonna kill me."

Beckett's eyes narrowed. "Surrender yourself to the East India Trading Company without a fuss," Beckett breathed, "...or I will kill" - his gun cocked and shifted to Jack's left to point at Elizabeth instead - "_her_."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, then narrowed as she met Beckett's gaze, anger bubbling up in her chest. Jack pulled his own gun out of his belt again, cocked it, and aimed at Beckett.

"Not if I kill you first."

At that moment, four more guards barged through the front door, leaving it swinging wildly on its hinges. It was then that Jack and Elizabeth realized that the lobby had been otherwise vacated- forcibly, by the very same members of the Royal Navy, no doubt. The guards stood in a line behind Beckett, their swords all aimed at Jack.

"Now, let's not get hasty, Jack. Come with me, and no unnecessary lives will be lost today."

Something behind the guards caught Elizabeth's eye - she looked up ever-so-slightly to see some familiar faces sneaking down the staircase to position themselves behind the guards, swords out and ready to strike. Gibbs, Marty, Cotton, Pintel and Ragetti formed a line of their own, unbeknownst to Beckett and his crew; Gibbs caught Elizabeth's eye and silently placed his pointer finger to his mouth. _Ssshhh_.

Jack paused, contemplating, and slowly lowered his gun. He tilted his head slightly to catch Elizabeth's gaze; his eyes glinted and lowered, for a split-second, to the sword resting in its sheath on his belt. Beckett smirked in satisfaction, nonchalantly lowering his own weapon.

Wrong move.

Jack's resigned expression transformed into a cold sneer as he kicked Beckett back into his line of men with as much force as he could muster. Elizabeth drew his sword from its sheath to confront one of the guards who had tried to take a swing at Jack with his own weapon; their swords clashed as Elizabeth swung attack after ruthless attack at him. The sickening sound of swords puncturing flesh became evident as the other three guards were ambushed by Jack's crew. Gibbs, Pintel and Ragetti had each taken on a man for his own, digging their swords through their backs before they even knew what hit them. They had withdrawn their weapons and were backing toward the door before their victims even hit the ground.

Jack turned to Elizabeth to find that she was fending just fine on her own - when had she gotten so good at fighting? His admiration for the girl was short-lived as he felt hands clasp around his leg - Beckett had crawled over to him and heaved Jack's ankle with all of his strength, causing him to lose balance and fall on the dirt floor. Elizabeth's opponent stumbled backwards into the wall, knocked unconscious by the subsequent blow to his head. _Good fighting, but his footwork is all wrong_, she thought, proud of her first real defeat. She turned to see Beckett and Jack both on the floor, then glided over to them in a few short steps and, without a second thought, kicked Beckett in the stomach as hard as she could. He doubled over with pain, assuming the fetal position. As Elizabeth helped Jack to his feet she could see Beckett violently coughing up blood out of the corner of her eye. As soon as Jack had gotten to his feet, he grabbed Elizabeth by the wrist and bolted for the door. The rest of the crew followed suit, knowing that Beckett would come to shortly.

They ran until their lungs burned and their legs threatened to give out under them, picking up a few more members of the crew they'd run into along the way. Elizabeth expected them to head for the port, and was surprised when they ended up racing through dense forestry on a poorly marked dirt path. Despite being far away from Beckett and his minions, Jack still maintained a tight grasp on Elizabeth's wrist as they ran, only letting go when they finally broke free of the dense forest to find themselves on a small and breathtakingly stunning beach. Elizabeth slowed to a stop, gasping for air. It was dawn now. The sunlight bathed the entire beach in warm, yellow light. Her eyes travelled from the scattered palm trees to the fine, white sand to the crystal blue ocean water that glistened in the light. Finally, her gaze settled on a magnificent silhouette etched against the yellow, pink and blue sunrise that could be no other than the Black Pearl. A wide smile spread across her face, accompanied by a sharp exhale of disbelief, and she hurried off to rejoin the crew ahead of her.

**xxx**

The hot Caribbean sun beat down on the Pearl and the glistening ocean around it. No one had any time to be relieved about their successful escape from the East India Trading Company before Captain Jack had begun spewing orders at the crew: "All hands on deck! Get to work, all of you! Make fast! All hands - run!" He paced across the deck of his ship anxiously, distantly, not halting until he ran head-on into Mr. Gibbs, who had been trying to get his attention for several minutes.

"Captain! What's our heading?" Gibbs sounded more concerned than annoyed, clutching a tattered map in his hands.

"I... land! Any land. Doesn't matter, but no sea - just land. Go!" Jack addressed Gibbs directly but his stare was vacant, looking straight past the man in front of him. Gibbs furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Cap'n?"

"I said land! Mister Gibbs, we are wasting precious time and I implore you to coax as much speed out of these sails as possible - or it means trouble for all of us." A confused Gibbs gave him a short nod of understanding. Jack grimaced and turned to yell out more orders, but was stopped abruptly by no other than Elizabeth, hands on her hips. "Captain Sparrow." He took a step back from her as if she had transformed into a venomous snake eager to strike; she raised her eyebrow inquisitively. Her striking features were even more exquisite than they had been a year ago when he had seen her last. Her light brown hair framed her face in a way that made her look more goddess than human. Her pale face, her arched eyebrows, her signature cocky smirk... oh, how he had missed that. She looked older, too; her features were more refined, her eyes more mature... and in a way, much more solemn.

"Elizabeth, darling, those clothes do not flatter you at all - it should be a dress or nothing, and... I happen to have no dress on my ship." Jack smirked as she wrinkled her eyebrows and scoffed with disgust. She leaned in slightly, her eyes boring into his own.

"Jack." Her sweet breath on his skin was intoxicating; he took another step back. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the very same question," Jack retaliated. "But I think matters such as these are best discussed in the privacy of me cabin, aye?"

Elizabeth pondered this, glaring at him suspiciously with her arms crossed. Finally, she followed the captain into his cabin, entering first as he held the door open for her. The only time she'd been in here before was when Barbossa was captain, but now the entire room was so remarkably Jack, she never would've guessed someone else had occupied it for such a long time. Sunshine entering from the three windows on the farthest wall bathed the room in cool light - it was almost sunset - bringing to attention the apparent disarray of Jack's living quarters. The mixed scent of alcohol, saltwater and incense filled her nostrils, almost overpowering. Empty rum bottles littered the table, the nightstand, the floor. His bunk was unmade. On the studio table in the center of the room lay a map, a few scattered candles, Jack's open compass, and a half-full bottle of his favorite drinking substance . Jack motioned for her to sit down in one of the chairs at the table, then sat down himself, snatching up the bottle of rum as if scared Elizabeth would try to burn it.

"So tell me, 'Lizbeth. What were ye doing in Tortuga? Last I heard you were breaking all sorts of hearts and promises back in Port Royale." Jack looked more mysterious than usual, the flickering candlelight casting extreme shadows across his face, but he was still smirking as he spoke.

Elizabeth's smile faded as her thoughts returned to Port Royale.

"I ran away," she murmured. "From prison." Jack seemed to not notice - or not care about - her distraught state. He took a few deep gulps of alcohol and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table.

"And what, may I ask, were you doing there?"

His answer was met with silence - Elizabeth did not respond. He set down his glass bottle to glance over at her. She was fumbling with her hands - now he noticed the grime on them, the dirt underneath her fingernails. She stared at an insignificant spot on the table, refusing to meet Jack's eye. He could see something flicker in her eyes... fear? Pain? He couldn't tell... he slid his feet off the table and leaned toward her, his expression turning more serious and solemn.

"How do you know Beckett?" he asked instead, his voice a low whisper.

It was dark outside now, the only lightsource being the candles scattered around the cabin. Elizabeth looked up now to meet his gaze. Her intense, light brown eyes pierced his; he blinked several times. "He arrested Will and me." Jack raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "For helping _you_," she added, her voice cold. Jack grimaced - he certainly wasn't expecting that. An awkward silence fell over them until Elizabeth spoke up again:

"How are you familiar with him?" Her tone was detached and cool. Jack leaned back in his chair again, thoroughly examining his own fingernails.

"We've had our run-ins in the past. Matter of fact, he gave me this." Jack pulled back the cotton sleeve on his left arm to reveal a single letter branded into his skin - **P**. It was lighter than the surrounding skin, and slightly beveled but fully healed, suggesting it had happened years ago. Elizabeth's eyes widened as she leaned in to get a good look at it. _Pirate_. "Been tryna catch me ever since," he added, smiling arrogantly. The corners of Elizabeth's mouth twitched upwards into an amused smirk as their eyes met.

"Where is dear William, anyway?" Jack mused, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the tattered map that lay in front of him.

Elizabeth's smile faded. Her warm eyes froze over. She stood up suddenly, turning away from Jack, who looked up at her with alarm.

"Dead."

Jack froze, his mouth slightly agape.

"Or as good as, anyway," she muttered, heading for the door to the main deck.

"Wait - stop," Jack croaked, standing up himself and taking a step toward her. She turned to face him again. There was no evident trace of sadness in her hardened expression, but her somber eyes gave her away.

"There's a cabin that's connected to my quarters," Jack murmured, his voice husky. He pointed to his right toward another door Elizabeth hadn't noticed before. "Maybe you should take it... it's certainly a step above sleeping below deck with the rest of the crew." He risked looking up at Elizabeth again. In a split-second, her apathetic expression morphed into one of disgust and rage. She rounded on Jack.

"I am not some princess that needs to be constantly watched over and guarded and - and protected!" she spat acidly, fuming. "I don't need any help or special treatment from the likes of you, Jack Sparrow." Her face was inches from his now, her hands balled into fists, skin stretching white over her knuckles.

"I do not think you need protecting, Elizabeth," Jack replied patiently. He was a full head taller than her, making her seem less intimidating as she tried to size herself up to him. "However, I _am_ a pirate, and therefore am fully aware of what pirates are capable of. No decent man _or _woman would want to spend the night in their company," he continued matter-of-factly. He was challenging her, keeping his face close to hers; her pride wouldn't let her pull away. Not able to come up with a decent counterargument, Elizabeth huffed and spun on her heel, out the doors that led to the deck. Jack lingered for a moment, thoroughly disgruntled, the intoxicating scent of _her _clouding his mind. _Fine_, he thought._ Just trying to help._

**xxx**

Hours later, well into that peaceful, chilly night, Elizabeth found herself leaning against the cold, metal railing of the ship, lost in thought as she gazed up at the black sky that was dusted with magnificent constellations and twinkling stars and a sliver of a moon that cast just enough light onto the deck of the Pearl. Keeping her company was an alert Mr. Gibbs, fulfilling his shift at the wheel for the night.

"What happened to you, Mr. Gibbs?" asked Elizabeth softly, turning toward him. "How did you leave the Royal Navy and come to be a pirate?"

Gibbs sighed, resting his forearms on the wheel. "I was always a pirate," he said, partly to himself. "You either are one or ye aren't. Jus' takes some people a bit longer to realize it, is all." He smiled and glanced over at Elizabeth, who returned his smile fondly. She had always liked Gibbs. When she was just a child, Gibbs - employed under His Majesty's Royal Navy at the time - always listened to her stories and opinions as if they were the most important thing in the world. He acknowledged her when her own father hadn't... as he did now, comforting her, giving her advice wholeheartedly without pestering her for information.

"Mister Gibbs," emerged a deeper, darker, huskier voice coming from the entryway to the captain's quarters. "I believe your shift is up." Jack climbed the steps to the helm where Elizabeth and his first mate stood. Elizabeth's face hardened. She scowled at him as he approached, then turned to look at the open sea in front of her. Gibbs shot her a sympathetic glance, then left, descending the staircase that led below deck. An uncomfortably loud silence overcame the two as soon as they were alone.

Jack cleared his throat but said nothing. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, trying to focus intently at the inky black sea.

"'Lizbeth." His voice was sober and filled with resignation. She finally turned her head over her shoulder to see him already staring at her somberly.

"Go sleep," he muttered. "Yer tired."

Elizabeth scoffed, but before she got a chance to retaliate, Jack spoke again, louder and more impatient:

"We both bloody well know yer not gunna be sleepin' with the rest of the crew and yer not gunna be wastin' away on deck, either, so please - save us both the trouble." He motioned with his hand to the door that led to her - _Jack's_ - second cabin.

If Elizabeth had not been so exhausted and already sleep-deprived, she could've bashed heads with Jack for hours over the matter... but, being as she was, she simply shot Jack a stern yet resigned look and strode off to the cabin, quickly closing and locking the door behind her. It was a modest room, quaint and rather small. A bed with sheets and a red blanket that looked as though they hadn't been disturbed in years sat in one corner, next to a small window. A small, dusty, mahogany nightstand sat next to the bed, an old lantern sitting atop it. Elizabeth glanced around the room then heaved a great sigh and collapsed into the bed. It was the warmest and most comfortable bed... she'd never admit it to Jack, though, of course...

Within minutes, Elizabeth dozed off.


	3. Island of the Dead

Super sorry this chapter took so long to get up! Senior year of high school + 2 jobs + life = one busy girl. Thank you all for the beautiful reviews. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3! This one is shorter than the others but I really wanted to get something up so I can get moving on with the rest of the story. I'm graduated now, and it's summer, so I have tons of free time to work on DMH. I will try to be a bit more speedy with the upcoming chapters, now that I have the whole story pretty much planned out. I'm so excited to share the rest of it with you. :) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns PotC, not me!

**CHAPTER 3**

_ "Mister Turner." _

_ Lord Beckett rotated slowly in his chair, one hundred-eighty degrees until he faced a young William Turner on the other side of his mahogany desk, bound in chains and looking rather flustered. His face was visibly thinner, his cheekbones more prominent and defined than they'd been a fortnight ago when he had first been captured - providing adequate nourishment for prisoners was not ranked highly on Beckett's to-do list._

_ "What have you done with her?" Will choked, his voice broken and fearful. "Where's Elizabeth?" He was fighting the chains that bound his wrists, knowing it was for naught, and causing the Navy officials to shift toward him slightly, ready to hold him back should he make some attempt to escape. _

_ Beckett smirked slightly at his apparent dismay. What better way to persuade cooperation out of a fool in love than to take away the object of his desire - or, at least, pretend to? In fact, Beckett had Elizabeth Swann herself to thank for their predicament. She had run away from Port Royale herself, and, last he had seen her, had been swashbuckling her days away as a pirate. Furthermore, as fate would have it, she had led him to the single pirate Beckett had been hunting relentlessly for thirteen years: Jack Sparrow. It would be all too easy to convince the boy to lead him straight to Sparrow and the girl now, and the trio's fate would be sealed..._

_ "Miss Swann," Beckett began smugly, raising his porcelain teacup from his desk to his lips. "Miss Swann...," His voice faded into one entirely different; his features began to morph before fading into blackness. "Miss Swann - Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth, wake up..."_

With a start, Elizabeth shot up in bed, causing a disgruntled Joshamee Gibbs to stagger backwards. "Elizabeth - my apologies," he coughed, brushing imaginary dust off of his grey vest. "I was set to wake yeh. We've reached land."

Elizabeth blinked the sleep out of her eyes, still stunned from the dream she had just had. Coming to, she slid out of bed, muttering thanks to a befuddled Gibbs as she passed him, and sprinted out her cabin door.

Could it be true? Could Will still be alive? The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself so - what reason did Beckett really have to kill Will (and herself) in the first place? Wouldn't it be more plausible that they captured them for information? To find Jack...? She thought back to the pirate brand on his arm. Then back to Tortuga, where Beckett had seemed much more interested than Jack than herself... of course! Jack! That had to be it! Beckett had captured Will and herself for information, to hunt down Jack Sparrow! Will was still alive!

The bright, late morning sun bathed Elizabeth in warmth as she stepped out onto the deck of the Black Pearl. Members of the crew were lugging cargo boxes off of the ship and onto the beach nearby, stacking them atop the fine white sand. She spotted the captain muttering to himself with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he surveyed the island, feet planted into the sand on the shore, all by his lonesome. A smile spread across her face involuntarily as she ran to him him, Captain Jack Sparrow, in all his peculiar glory.

"Jack! Jack, I -" Elizabeth halted and paused to catch her breath; Jack snapped out of his daze to look over at her - barefoot, cheeks flushed, hair unkempt. "Jack, Will is still alive - Beckett's holding him captive - he's in Port Royale! We must go to him!" She spoke almost too fast for Jack to understand her. He paused then frowned down at her before swinging around on his heel to swagger in the opposite direction. Elizabeth's mouth fell open slightly in surprise; she whirled around to tap Sparrow on the shoulder. "Jack! Are you listening to me!? Will is alive, we must go save him -"

"Dear William is alive, you say?" interrupted Jack, pausing once again with his hand held up to shush Elizabeth. He turned around to face her. "Tell me, how do ye figure that, Lizzie?" A roguish grin spread across his face, exposing a gold tooth that glistened in the sunlight. Elizabeth opened and shut her mouth several times, trying to answer him with apparent difficulty - how was she supposed to explain that her knowledge of Will's survival came from nothing but a scarily realistic dream? But there was no other explanation for their situation. It had to be true. And if it was true, a speedy arrival was critical - who knows what twisted ways Beckett had come up with to torture him for information? Images flashed through Elizabeth's mind. She shuddered.

Elizabeth shook herself out of her daze to find Jack walking the other way, examining a small, tattered map he had pulled out of his coat pocket. She ran after him. "Jack! You listen to me! You owe Will your life - it's because of you he got locked up in the first place. You _must_ go and help him - !"

Jack turned on his heel, trying very hard to maintain his cool. "Even if I wanted to save the whelp I couldn't - we are trapped on this god-forsaken spot of land until further notice due to a truly unfortunate series of circumstances and so I apologize dearly but _we_ will not be going anywhere."

Elizabeth stopped. Jack always had a great way of invalidating her arguments. "What do you mean?" she asked. Jack raised his eyebrows, almost surprised that Lizzie had shut up about William long enough to actually listen to him. He glanced around them, making sure no one else from the crew was within hearing distance, then lowered his voice to a purr in her ear:

"What do you know of Davy Jones?"

His face was so close to hers. As he spoke, the familiar, intoxicating scent of seasalt and rum filled her nostrils.

"I've heard stories," she replied simply, her body tensing.

"Davy Jones captains the Flying Dutchman. A terrible man - beast - manbeastie. Had an unfortunate run-in with him, I did - thirteen years ago." Coincidence? Elizabeth's eyes glanced down to his wrist in search of the pirate brand Beckett had given him thirteen years prior. What she found was something entirely different and more horrifying - on the palm of his hand was a ghastly, morbid-looking black spot. Elizabeth gasped; Jack's eyes followed her own down to his hand.

"As you can see, Jones is after me soul now, so we can't be goin' out to sea unless we want to face his wrath," Jack said.

"But you can't expect that to stop him, can you? Can't he just come on land and find you?"

"Ah, that's the catch, dear Lizzie - Jones holds the duty of ferrying the souls of those who died at sea to the next life. The captain of a dreadful life - er, existence, if you will - living but not quite alive. Fortunately for us, Beastie is only allowed on land once every ten years." Jack grinned.

"So... let me get this straight. An undead... monster is after your soul. The East India Trading Company is after your head. And we're stuck on this island until you come up with a magical plan to fix everything."

"Pretty much, luv."

"Alright, well - Davy Jones is after _your _soul, not mine. So you stay here and the rest of the crew will go to Port Royale and rescue Will! Then come back for you," Elizabeth suggested feebly. Jack jerked his head to shoot her a dirty look of disbelief. In a moment, his expression softened. "And leave you alone with my ship to go looking for trouble? You can't stay outta trouble on your own! I leave you alone for two minutes and you almost get yourself killed," Jack whined, his voice cracking. He turned on his heel again to face Mr. Gibbs, who was beckoning for him twenty feet away. Elizabeth followed him as he started to walk.

"But - Jack! _Jack_!" Jack turned around once again, smirking at her.

"Lizzie, you've no idea how many times I've dreamed about you screaming my name like that."

Elizabeth shut up mid-sentence, her cheeks flushing scarlet. _What a cocky, privileged, know-it-all, irritating, arrogant_ -

"I loathe you," she hissed at him. He grinned, taking a few steps towards her until their noses were almost touching again.

"That's quite a strong emotion, love," he purred. "Full of passion. I like that."

As Jack turned to walk away from her, Elizabeth fumed, lost for words. _Lousy, rum-soaked, dirty, filthy... pirate!_

**xxx**

It was night. A chilly gust of wind sent shivers down Elizabeth's spine. She was alone, sitting on a fallen log in the middle of the dense forestry that made up Mortui Island. The flickering campfire in front of her cast dim, warm light over her as she picked apart her portion of meat, not having the appetite to eat it. Several hundred feet away, in a forest opening connected to the one Elizabeth sat in, the rest of the Black Pearl's crew danced, laughed, pigged out on cooked meat, and drank rum.

Elizabeth's eyes travelled over to Jack, who had also planted himself on a fallen log, and was downing his fourth bottle of rum that evening. She scoffed in disgust as some alcohol dribbled down his chin and onto his already-stained cotton shirt. Disgusting. How many years had she spent daydreaming of the day she got swept away from Port Royale by a bunch of exciting, mysterious pirates? Whisked away on fantastical adventures, with no rules, no societal expectations, and, for god's sake, no corsets. And here she was, a fugitive on a wild island, hiding from the law and the supernatural beasts of the sea. And she still wasn't happy. This was the life that she had chosen for herself - she could tell herself all day she was making all these sacrifices to save Will, but was that really true?

Her thoughts wandered back to Port Royale, where her father was probably sleeping safe in his comfortable bed. She imagined where Will was - alone in a cold, dark cell, probably famished. Elizabeth's chest tightened to the point where her eyes watered. He was all alone, scared, cold, starving... if she hadn't been so quick to jump on that merchant ship, perhaps they'd still be together. She thought of what would have happened with them had the East India Trading Company not interfered... soon enough, Elizabeth would have admitted her feelings for him. They would have settled down within a couple of years, buy their own house, have a few children. Elizabeth, of course, would be expected to stay home all day while her dear husband - she flinched at the word, though she was not sure why - was at work. She would cook and clean and take care of the children, waiting faithfully each night for Will to return home...

It took her a few seconds to shake herself out of her daze and realize she was crying. Was that really the life she wanted? The life she was meant for? _Of course it is_, she thought to herself, sniffling. _You're the governor's daughter._

And yet, here she was. Perhaps she'd been so quick to get onto the merchant ship because there was a part of her that wanted to get away from the mundane life spelled out for her in Port Royale... as soon as this thought crossed her mind, she mentally slapped herself.

_You boarded that ship to save yourself. You thought Will was dead._

_ Did I really ever believe that, though?_

_ Of course you did, Elizabeth! You saw the guards drag him off! You love Will._

_ I love Will?_

_ Of course you love Will!_

_ Yes..._

_ Right. Well, don't just sit there! You must do something, you must save him! Go!_

Elizabeth snapped back into reality with a start, and looked around to see if anyone had been paying attention to her, but she looked over to the crew to find that no, nothing had changed, besides that they were noticeably more drunk than before. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and snuck off into the thick forestry, leaving behind the haunting questions ringing in the air that she couldn't quite come up with answers for.

She began hacking through the dark jungle in search of where they had anchored the Pearl. What she planned on doing once she found it, she had no idea, but she wasn't about to sit around and let Will rot away in Port Royale. Although she made sure to always be aware and conscious of her surroundings, once in awhile she wold stumble over a protruding branch or slip in a puddle of water, and so before long she herself was entirely covered in a layer of dirt and mud. Her growing frustration became increasingly evident as her movements got sloppier, her limbs and lips numb with cold.

Finally, after thirty minutes of wandering, she had to admit to herself that she was lost. She heaved a frustrated sigh, scolding herself for not even thinking to bring a compass, and turned back to retrace her steps. She could hardly feel her legs now. She found her breath caught in her lungs as her slow, shaky steps caused her to, yet again, slip into the mud, landing square on her back. She let out a yelp of pain and surprise, then quickly cupped her dirty hands over her mouth, not intending to be as loud as she'd been. A slew of harshly whispered curse words escaped her lips as she struggled to her feet again, and as soon as she had steadied herself -

"Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth instinctively whirled around, almost losing her balance again. She wiped the mud from her eyes to look over at him, the one who'd called her name, he was here, he was -

"Will?" Elizabeth's eyes widened, a huge smile breaking across her face as she looked up at him. His longer black hair was tied at the nape of his neck in a sleek ponytail; his face was chiseled and slightly scruffy; his brown eyes were watering to the brim with the familiar innocence they'd always held. _He escaped. He escaped and he came to find me! _A childish giggle bubbled from Elizabeth's lips as Will stepped closer to her. Her heart pounded with euphoria. Will smiled down at her and caught her in his warm embrace, crushing her body against his own as if they couldn't get close enough. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder.

_Of course I love Will, _both sides of her conscience agreed. How could she have thought differently, even for a second?

Reluctantly, she withdrew from the hug to look up at him, still breathless with disbelief. "Will, how did you -?" She smiled as Will shushed her, taking her face in his hands. He brushed his chilly thumbs against her soft lips, sending shivers down her spine. "I missed you," she whispered. "I-I thought you were..." She trailed off, getting lost in his eyes. He said nothing, but simply smiled down at her, tucking a strand of her honey-colored hair behind her ear. Their eyes met again. His face was more intense now, almost concerned. In the silence, the atmosphere changed. Their faces inched closer together, Elizabeth's heart beating faster by the second. She closed her eyes as he closed his, their noses touching. She could feel the energy bouncing between his lips and her own. His warmth consumed her, along with what she was sure was her own blushing.

The moment that their lips touched, Elizabeth inhaled sharply, and his warmth vanished. She opened her eyes to find that Will was gone. "Will -?" As she turned around in a sudden panic, her eyes met with another familiar pair of chocolate brown eyes - but they weren't Will's. She felt rather dizzy, and had to steady herself and rub her eyes to make sure she was seeing correctly - Jack Sparrow, complete with his signature condescending smirk, was standing just feet away from her. What the bloody hell was going on? His name didn't even have time to escape her lips before she found herself pinned against a tree, Jack taking her face in his hands as Will had. Electricity surged through her body as she found his face a mere inch from her own. One part of her, much like a flickering light bulb, made a feeble attempt to escape; another part of her was still preoccupied with thoughts of Will; and the rest of her had suddenly been consumed with the man in front of her. And then - he didn't ask for permission, he didn't draw her into him - he kissed her. He crushed his lips against her own, and she struggled to break free - it hurt her to realize that she was so painfully easy to take advantage of, for she didn't have half the strength of a grown man. A strange tingling sensation formed on her lips as Jack kissed her, and while most of her was indeed trying her very hardest to break free, there was a small part of her that was not.

It was Jack who ended up pulling away and staggering backwards. Elizabeth found herself breathless and more confused then ever as she watched the figure of Jack Sparrow begin to morph in front of her eyes. His body expanded into twisting, billowing clouds of smoke; Jack Sparrow's face twisted into an entirely different set of features. His dreadlocks shrunk into the familiar shorter black hair that was bound into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His fierce brown eyes grew softer as his moustache faded away and his pirate clothes turned into those of a commoner. William Turner stood in front of her once more.

A mixture of horror and dismay pierced Elizabeth's heart as realization hit her. Will looked more ghost than human now, his skin letting off an eery semi-transparent glow. He looked down at her, his expression cold and dark. Then he did something she had never thought she'd see her blacksmith do - he pulled a sword out from the sheath around his belt and, in one swift motion, held it up to her throat. She felt the cold metal as it brushed up against her warm, exposed neck and instinctively attempted to kick him backwards. Her boot went straight through his semi-transparent body and she was the one who ended up staggering backwards, falling at the base of the tree. Will sneered at her as he closed in, tempting the blade closer and closer to piercing her skin.

Elizabeth scrambled to escape. The ghost - she's sure that's what it was - drew his sword back. Keeping his eyes on her, he positioned his sword to deliver the final blow. Just as he swung it forward towards a horrified Elizabeth, just as she saw the all-too-real metal blade gliding toward her throat, she closed her eyes, waiting for the pain, waiting for it to be over. But it didn't come.

She opened her eyes again to find the figure morphing, yet again. The swirling clouds of smoke faded to reveal a very confused-looking Jack Sparrow staggering backwards, looking down at himself as though he did not know who he was. Elizabeth, in her moment of courage, scrambled to her feet and started to run.

She ran and ran, and when she slipped and fell, she'd get up and run faster. Occasionally she could've sworn she'd hear Jack calling after her, "'Lizbeth!" or Will, "Elizabeth!" but she didn't stop. Her lungs threatened to collapse any moment, but she refused to rest, even for a second.

After an eternity, she found camp. It was quiet now, most of the crew passed out in the dirt with nothing but their own clothes to keep them warm. She noticed Pintel and Ragetti sitting on the log, arguing over some insignificant thing, taking their turn on watch for the night. Neither of them noticed her as she slunk across the sleeping bodies towards them. She finally got their attention by clearing her throat rather loudly as they argued. Ragetti jumped.

"'Ey, you scared us!" Ragetti whispered, looking her up and down. She must've been quite a sight, having just narrowly escaped her demise. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Your shift is up. It's my turn."

"Bu' we jus' started 'bout thirty minutes ago," said Pintel.

"_It's my turn_. If you want to take it up with the captain be my guest," she challenged impatiently.

After a silent consultation, the pair shrugged and got up from their seat.

"Alrigh', poppet."

"Nighty-night."

Elizabeth took their place on the log and watched them as they stumbled off to the far end of the campsite to find a place to sleep. Once she was sure there was no one watching her, she buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow.

What had just happened?

**xxx**

"'Ey, you scared us!"

Jack, who had found himself a comfortable enough place to lay on a smooth spot of dirt, using a slab of granite as a pillow, opened his eyes to look over at the source of the voice: Pintel and Ragetti sat on the log he'd assigned them to for the first watch shift of the night. Standing in front of them was Elizabeth - he hadn't seen her since their little quarrel upon their arrival on Mortui Island that morning. Even in the dark, he could tell she looked positively dreadful: Her hair, which had been secured into a tight braid that morning, was now loose and messy. Her clothes were soaked and muddy. In fact, it seemed that not an inch of her skin wasn't covered in mud or leaves. He frowned. What had she been up to?

"...want to take it up with the captain be my guest," she finished. Jack smirked at her referring to him as "captain." But - wait, he didn't put her on watch duty. How peculiar.

He watched as Elizabeth sat on the log now. The flickering campfire that seperated her and himself exposed her busted lip and the dark circles under her tired eyes. She watched Pintel and Ragetti lay down and then she took in a deep, trembling sigh. Jack had an odd feeling that he was intruding somehow by watching her. After glancing around the campsite again, she suddenly broke into tears and silent sobs, which made Jack that much more uncomfortable. She couldn't still be upset about the whelp, could she?

After chalking her behavior up to female angst, Jack huffed and turned over, as if to try to sleep.

Two weary souls remained awake that night, long after everyone had drifted off.


End file.
